


Foggy Has Such Bad Luck

by ravenienne



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blind Character, Blind Foggy, Blindness, Canon Disabled Character, Gen, Physical Disability, Pre-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenienne/pseuds/ravenienne
Summary: “Matt?” He was not panicking, he was not panicking, not panicking.“Foggy? What's wrong?” Even through the tinny phone speaker Matt's voice sounded alert and concerned. How did he know to be concerned yet? He couldn't hear his heartbeat over the phone, could he?“Matt, can you come pick me up? I think I need to go to the hospital.”He could hear Matt on the other end rustling around, probably grabbing clothes. “What’s wrong, Foggy? What’s going on?”“I… I can’t…”“Foggy--”“Matt I can’t see.”“I'm on my way.”





	1. Chapter 1

“Oh, golly,” Foggy sighed just after Karen had closed the office door behind their last client of the day. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his face. “Is it just me or does it feel like the days are getting longer?”

“Well it’s spring, right? So technically they are,” Matt remarked.

“Smart aleck,” Foggy accused. If Karen weren’t in the next room he might have thrown a pen at him. “My throat hurts from all this talking. We have too many clients.”

Matt snorted. “First we need more clients, now we have too many? And your voice has been hoarse for days, maybe you should see a doctor.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Foggy said sarcastically. “I’m not wasting good money over a little sore throat. It’s probably just a cold. I’m pretty sure I still haven’t recovered from all the stress and lack of sleep from the whole… Fisk fiasco. I’m just run-down.”

“Fisk fiasco?” Karen asked from the door behind him, and he turned to see her step into the conference room, joining them. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Foggy shrugged. “As good a name as any.”

“In that case, why don’t you go home and I’ll finish up here. Karen,” Matt tilted his face towards her, “can you stick around for a little bit to help with any of the notes that haven’t been transcribed yet?”

“Matt--”

“Sure, I can do that,” Karen interrupted. She started making shooing motions towards Foggy. “Go home. Rest.”

Foggy sighed. “Fine, fine, I’m going.” He stood up and gathered his things and was halfway out the door when he added, “But you two better not stay too late!”

“Bye, Foggy!” Matt and Karen chorused, then giggled.

#### xxXxx

“Foggy, you’re having throat coat tea with honey _again_?” Matt’s voice was exasperated.

They were once again working late into the night in the conference room while Karen sorted through files at her desk.

“It’s yummy,” Foggy protested, sniffing and then taking a sip.

“You know this could be more than being run down and catching a cold? You could have strep or something. Which I’m pretty sure they prescribe antibiotics for.”

Foggy glanced at him. “Pretty sure?”

Matt looked uncomfortable. “So I didn’t go to the doctor much before I was ten, that doesn’t mean _you_ shouldn’t. With strep you usually have white patches in your throat, right? We can have Karen look--”

“--Can’t you… smell them or something yourself?” Foggy interrupted, a bit of an edge in his voice.

For a moment Matt looked a bit wounded before he composed his face, and Foggy felt a little bad. “Uh, no, not really. I mean, I can tell you’re probably a bit… run down or fighting something off, but you don’t have a full fever, and I can’t smell bacteria or something, not unless it’s really bad. And I can’t _see_ , you know. I can’t see colors.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to… yeah.”

They were quiet a moment, then Matt raised his voice and called out, “Karen?! Can you come look for white spots in Foggy’s throat?!”

“Matt, Karen does not need to look in my throat--”

Matt ignored Foggy’s protests, and as Karen’s heels sounded in the doorway he asked, “Do we keep flashlights around here?”

“I have one on my phone.” Karen swiped the screen and turned on the light as she spoke.

“Oh. Right.”

“Guys--” Foggy tried again.

“Open wide!” Karen sing-songed with a bright smile.

Foggy kept his mouth firmly shut.

Karen sighed. “If _you_ are this grumpy, you’re definitely sick. C’mon Foggy, just let me check. It’s been days. Help us not worry. You know you would make us do this if it were one of us.”

Foggy huffed but opened, and Karen shone the light in his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, those look like white patches.”

Matt stood up and moved closer to the two of them. “ _Now_ will you go to the doctor, Foggy?”

Foggy backed up slightly. “Matt, need I remind you that I’m broke? We’re _all_ broke, so don’t go offering to lend me money either. And while I am very grateful for Obamacare and glad to have insurance, the fact is Congress de-fanged Obamacare, so I am left with terrible insurance that isn’t much better than having no insurance. And even if I had amazing insurance, I would still have to pay the co-pay with money that _I don’t have_.”

Matt was giving him a _look_ , which Foggy could feel even if he couldn’t see behind the red-tinted glasses. “Foggy, antibiotics are considered a major medical advancement for a reason.”

Foggy sighed, exasperated. “What about your… nurse friend. Do you think she could take a quick look, tell me if it’s worth going to the doctor? Or if she has a friend that could do that?”

Matt looked uncomfortable. “Um--”

“Nurse friend?” Karen asked, glancing back and forth between them.

Foggy’s mouth broadened into a smile, glad to have someone to redirect the heat towards. “Yeah, Matt had a little fling with a nurse a little while back.”

Matt looked like he wanted to protest that description, but couldn’t come up with a better one.

“Oh,” was all Karen said. Was that a hint of disappointment in her face? Tiny, but there. Oh. _Oh_.

“I guess I can ask her.”

“Thanks, buddy!”

#### xxXxx

The morning after finally visiting a doctor at a clinic, Foggy was just closing the front door to the office behind him when Karen stormed out of the kitchen.

“Foggy, what are you doing here? You said last night you were going to take the day off!”

Foggy furrowed his brow. “When did I say that?”

Karen gave him a look that clearly said _you’re an idiot_ . “After the doctor at the clinic explained to you that even though the rapid strep test was negative you are showing a lot of the symptoms of strep, so he wanted you to _rest_ and take antibiotics for seven days, even if you start to feel better sooner?”

“Oh,” Foggy waved her off, stepping around her and towards his office. “I’m taking the antibiotics. I’ll be fine. There’s no time for me to take a day off. We’re a two-man-- three person!--” he hastily corrected himself, “--office, and we’re just getting on our feet.”

Just then, Matt walked through the door, a fresh cut visible on his lower lip.

“Matt, great.” Karen turned towards him. “Tell Foggy to go home.”

“I do not need to go home! I don’t even feel that sick. Just a little sore throat, nothing the antibiotics won’t help with.”

“But not if you don’t _rest_ and give your body a chance to recover!” Karen protested, rounding back on him.

“Foggy, go home.” Matt set his cane in the corner and walked towards his own office, Karen stepping out of his way slightly.

“What?! Matt! We can’t afford for me to take a sick day! _You_ hardly ever--” Foggy broke off, faltering.

Matt turned his head halfway towards him from the doorway. “Then take some documents home with you and work on them-- _from your couch, resting_.” He continued through his office to put his messenger bag down by his desk. “Ms. Morales is coming in today. You’re probably contagious and we don’t want to get a pregnant woman sick.”

“Oh,” Foggy looked down, contrite. “Right.”

“Come back tomorrow when you’ve been on the antibiotics for a full day.” Matt gave him the invisible _look_ again, from behind his glasses, and Foggy felt a flicker of shame. He recognized the hypocrisy in his actions -- telling Matt to take it easy and take care of himself but when their positions were reversed ignoring his own advice. But he really didn’t feel that bad aside from his throat. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal.

“Okay. Karen, can you help me get some of the relevant files together to take home?”

“Of course.” Her face looked intentionally blank as she turned away to the filing cabinets.

Matt moved back to his office door. “And I might need your help with the final prep for our meeting today. I don’t think all of the documents have been converted for the text-to-speech software.”

“Oh, crap, Matt--” Foggy began.

“We’ll be fine Foggy,” Matt said firmly.

“Go home Foggy, I got it,” Karen said more gently.

“Right. Okay. Well... see you tomorrow I guess. Update me after the meeting, okay?”

“Of course. See you tomorrow.”

#### xxXxx

A couple of weeks later, they were still spending more weekday evenings than not working late in the conference room. Late on a Thursday night, Foggy finally sat back and rubbed at his eyes.

“Argh, I think I’m starting to need glasses. Can you need glasses from eye strain, from staring at the computer too much?”

The corners of Matt’s mouth twitched up. “Probably, I don’t know.”

Foggy sighed dramatically. “You’re the wrong person to ask. Karen!” he shouted out to the main office.

“What?!”

“Can you become myopic from eye strain?!” In a quieter voice he added, “I spend way too much time staring at computer screens.”

“I don’t know, probably! Why?!” Karen called back.

“I swear my vision is getting blurrier,” Foggy complained to Matt. In a shout again, he added, “I’m going blind, Karen!”

By this point Matt was chuckling and Karen finally got up from her desk and walked in to join them, smiling.

“Maybe we should all stop for the night, it’s late,” she remarked as she walked up to the conference table.

Matt laughed. “Probably. I think we broke Foggy.”

Foggy sat back and rubbed at his eyes again. “Probably for the best. Let’s pack up.”

#### xxXxx

Foggy was trying to slip quietly into his office the next morning when Karen stepped out of the office kitchen.

“Whoa, Foggy, what’s with the James Dean look?”

Matt came out of his office, looking curious. “ _‘James Dean look’_?” he echoed, crossing his arms.

Figures the one time Matt beats him here is this morning, Foggy grumbled in his mind. “What look?” he answered out loud, trying for nonchalance.

Karen snorted. “The shades? You hardly ever wear sunglasses. It’s not even sunny outside.”

Foggy glanced over towards Matt who was leaning against his doorway with a small furrow in his brow. He turned back to Karen.

“Just… thought I’d try something new?”

“Uh huh.” Karen didn’t look like she was buying it. The one time Foggy did not appreciate Karen’s inquisitive nature. Not everything is a mystery, Karen! “Well, they’re quite the fashion statement.” She giggled. “You look like… a celebrity trying to hide their identity. Who’s about to end up on a list of worst fashion choices of the week.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Are you trying to hide a hangover, or something? Did you go out after we all left the office last night?” Karen tried to tease him.

“My eyes are just feeling sensitive today,” Foggy grumbled. “All that staring at a computer, I’m sure.” He pulled off the shades, squinting slightly against the light and feeling more self-conscious than usual.

“Fog, your eyes are red. Are you sure you didn’t hit the bottle last night?”

“I didn’t!” Foggy stated firmly, exasperated. “They just hurt, okay?”

“Is your vision still blurry?” Matt finally spoke up.

“A bit. I’m sure it’ll clear up on its own though.”

“Foggy,” Matt gave him an exasperated look from behind his own sunglasses, “go to the doctor. This is what they’re for. And medical debt doesn’t count against your credit  score.”

“It’s probably, like, conjunctivitis or something, and you two are going to force me into bankruptcy.” When they both kept staring at him Foggy eventually sighed in defeat and said, “Fine. If it hasn’t cleared up tomorrow, I’ll call.”

#### xxXxx

“A _sinus infection_?” Matt repeated, incredulous.

Foggy threw his hands up in frustration. “See, I knew you wouldn’t believe me if you didn’t hear the doctor say it. Yes, the cheap clinic that still costs more than I can afford but that is less expensive than the copay plus the taxi ride all the way out to the closest place that actually accepts my crappy insurance... said it was probably a sinus infection. They gave me a new course of different antibiotics too.”

Matt frowned. “I didn’t know sinus infections could do that.”

“Well I guess they can.”

#### xxXxx

“Matt?” He was _not_ panicking, he was _not_ panicking, _not_ panicking.

 _“Foggy? What's wrong?”_ Even through the tinny phone speaker Matt's voice sounded alert and concerned. How did he know to be concerned yet? He couldn't hear his heartbeat over the phone, could he?

“Matt, can you come pick me up? I think I need to go to the hospital.”

He could hear Matt on the other end rustling around, probably grabbing clothes. _“What’s wrong, Foggy? What’s going on?”_

“I… I can’t…”

_“Foggy--”_

“Matt I can’t see.”

_“I'm on my way.”_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the end

The trip down the stairs and out to the taxi Matt had called was one of the most terrifying moments of his life. A constant mantra of “ _crap crap crap crap crap_ ” was running through his head. He held onto Matt’s elbow for dear life, hearing the _tap tap_ of Matt’s cane in front of them, while he alternated widening his eyes and then squinting reflexively at the light that even through his sunglasses felt too bright.

It wasn’t actually that he couldn’t see _anything_ , he just couldn’t see _much_. It made the whole trip overwhelming and disorienting, with smeary and blurry flickers all he could see around him. The taxi ride through the New York City streets was awful, and by the time the cab driver announced they were “here” he gratefully fumbled his way out of the car, hoping he wasn’t going to hurl.

He wasn’t sure whether to be encouraged or freaked out by their relatively short wait before being led back to a free bed in the emergency department.

As though he could hear his thoughts, Matt softly told him, “There aren’t many people waiting right now. Probably because it’s a weekday morning.”

The initial examination by the doctor only ratcheted up his anxiety. The penlight he shone in his eyes was too painful, the white patches in his throat were apparently still there, the rash he had ignored a few days ago turned out to interest the doctor. And when the doctor started asking him to read off different things he was evidently holding up for him, Foggy started panicking again.

“I… I can’t-- I’m not sure--”

“Okay, how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Um…” Foggy squinted. “Crap. I don’t… two?” _Crap crap crap crap crap_.

“Okay, tell me when you see my hand move.”

Foggy waited a couple of moments, growing increasingly nervous, then, “Yes! Yes I do! I did! Something moved across!”

“Okay good. Mr. Nelson, the nurse is going to draw some blood while I get set up for some additional eye tests, okay?”

Foggy nodded. “Okay.” He wanted to reach for Matt’s hand, but he didn’t know where it was, and if he fumbled for it Matt would have to pretend not to notice with the nurse still in the room. And he couldn’t bring himself to ask for what he wanted out loud. Of all the times for Matt to have to fake not having superpowers...

Matt must have heard something in his heartbeat, or smelled something in his sweat or tasted something in the air or whatever it was that he did, because a moment later he felt Matt’s hand patting around until he found his arm and then traced that down to his hand and gripped it.

After the nurse had packed up her equipment and was leaving (courteously informing them as she did so, which Foggy appreciated), Foggy whispered, “I should have made that appointment with the ophthalmologist.”

“What?” Matt asked, surprised.

“When they said I had a sinus infection. They referred me to an ophthalmologist. I was planning on doing it, I just… hadn’t gotten to it yet… Was waiting to see if the antibiotics worked? I don’t know, it was only a few days ago.”

Matt gave his hand a squeeze. “It will be okay.”

“But what if it’s not?” Foggy started breathing faster. “Oh god, I’m not gonna stay like this, am I? I can’t live like this. Oh that’s a terrible thing to say to you. I’m a terrible friend. Oh no, I’m gonna be--”

Matt interrupted his rambling. “--It’s fine Foggy.”

“It is not fine, I’m a terrible person--”

“--Let’s just wait to hear what the doctor has to say.”

xxXxx

“ _Syphilis??_ ”

“The good news is it’s treatable,” the doctor continued. “Based on your symptoms, we’re going to admit you to the hospital for probably a few days to monitor you while we administer a course of antibiotics to take care of the infection and steroids to reduce the inflammation.”

“But… _syphilis_?” Foggy repeated. “But… I’m not… I don’t… sleep around or whatever. And… I use protection…”

“It’s unlikely, but these things can still happen. Condoms break, or there’s exposure before or after it’s put on, that sort of thing. Lately there has been a bit of an outbreak of people presenting with eye symptoms earlier than is usually seen, probably due to a slightly different strain. As I was starting to say, in your case it caused bilateral -- sorry, that means in both eyes -- um, a bilateral conjunctival injection -- basically pink eye, or conjunctivitis. Your pupils are somewhat dilated and reacting slowly to light exposure, which may be why you’re experiencing photophobia -- discomfort with light. Looking deeper you have panuveitis, that means basically inflammation of the whole iris and the surrounding area, as well as bilateral acute retinal necrosis.”

Foggy swallowed. “Will I, um… Will my vision come back?”

“We’re going to have to wait and see.”

Matt squeezed his hand again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: talking about STD's/STI's -- not detailed/graphic, but mentioned


	3. Chapter 3

A few days into treatment, Foggy was excited to see he had some minor improvement in his vision, although according to the doctor it was only in his left eye. He hoped that meant he would continue to improve and could get out of there soon. He was going a bit stir crazy in the hospital with basically nothing to do since he couldn’t read or watch TV or navigate his laptop. Matt and often Karen visited every day after work, and even if Foggy couldn’t see him he could tell that every time they were shooed out at the end of visiting hours Matt was reluctant to leave him alone. But Foggy insisted that someone needed to keep their firm going, so during the day he listened to an old iPod shuffle that Matt somehow still had, flipped aimlessly through channels on the TV in his room trying to find something that had enough dialogue to listen to (he was getting way too invested in soap operas now), or practiced trying to use VoiceOver on his phone.

A couple of days after the initial improvement was noted though, in the middle of the day, Foggy suddenly felt as though a dark curtain had fallen over his eye. He hit the call button and when he explained, he seemed to set off a flurry of activity that resulted in the doctor visiting him sooner than expected.

It turned out the retina in his left eye -- the currently better eye -- had detached, probably due to the amount of damage that had been done. Within a day he was having surgery to try to repair it.

By the end of ten days, Foggy felt like he had been dragged through a wringer. He sat on the edge of his hospital bed, waiting for his discharge paperwork and trying to talk to a pacing Matt.

“They can't just… discharge you though, you're not better. I don't understand--”

“They've done everything they can for me here, Matt, I don't belong in a hospital anymore--”

“But your vision--”

“Matt, I'm fine.” How had he become the one doing the reassuring?

“Foggy you're not fine, how much can you see right now?”

“More than you, technically, I guess,” Foggy answered, a note of resentment in his voice.

Matt got quieter. “Not the point.”

“I can see movement, shadows, some shapes and color, a lot of blur. I can make out how many fingers are on a hand if it's close to my face and the light is right.”

Matt was quiet for a minute and Foggy started to get uncomfortable, wondering if he was missing something. Finally he spoke again.

“So, they're just, letting you keep healing at home?”

“Matt, I want to go home. I want to sleep in my own bed, wa-- use my own TV and take a shower in my own bathroom, eat not-hospital food.” He sighed. He had thought surely Matt could take a hint. “It's not necessarily getting better. If it does get better it's on a time scale of a few months, and they're not sure how much functional vision I would regain. I've got brochures for the National Federation for the Blind and some local services in my bag. How I'm supposed to read them I haven't figured out yet but…”

“But that’s… you…”

Foggy sighed. “Matt, I only have mental and emotional capacity right now to handle one of us freaking out, and I’d rather it wasn’t you.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“I told them, um,” Foggy fidgeted. “I told them I had support at home. That’s partly why they’re sending me home, rather than to a rehab facility or something. I mean, my parents live upstate now, but I thought--”

“Yes, Foggy, yes, of course, I’ll help however I can. I’m sure Karen will too, if you want her.”

Foggy nodded. “I just nodded. Wait, you-- oh, whatever.” A sudden thought hit him and he groaned and put his head in his hands. “Oh god, my parents, what am I going to tell my parents?”

“Wait, you haven’t… But they were here--”

“Yes, they visited, I know. I just told them I was in the hospital with a bacterial infection, I didn’t specify _which one_. I told them I was on antibiotics and it wasn’t a big deal, which is why they weren’t camped out here.”

“But, you love your family…” Foggy could practically hear the furrowed brow in Matt’s voice.

Foggy sighed. “Yes, I love my family. My family is great. That doesn’t mean I want my mom to know I got syphilis. Ugh, and they worry, and hover, and all of that. I kept telling them the vision thing was temporary, I didn’t even tell them there was a possibility of it being permanent. I didn’t want to deal with it until I had to.” He groaned. “I guess I have to now.”

Matt was quiet for a while, and Foggy wondered what he was contemplating. It was strange, not being able to see his friend’s face. Foggy wasn’t sure that he knew this, and he had wondered if it stemmed from being blinded at the age he was, but Matt’s face was usually so expressive. It was somewhat strange, and rather endearing, coming from a man who was otherwise so very private and at times secretive. In this moment, Foggy missed it, finding it difficult to glean what Matt might be feeling or what thoughts might be crossing his mind.

“Well,” Foggy eventually spoke up again. “Um, they said I should be able to find an Orientation and Mobility instructor through the New York NFB. They said it’d be good to call them as soon as I get home.”

Matt cleared his throat. “Yeah, um, that’s probably a good idea. Uh, and I can… I’ll stay with you, for a little while, until you get back on your feet. If that’s okay?”

Crap, he hadn’t actually thought that far. Sure, the nebulous idea of needing some help adjusting had occurred to him, and knowing he had Matt and Karen and his parents if needed had led him to telling the hospital he was fine to be sent home, but he hadn’t really thought about what it would mean. But now that he did… “Yeah, that would be great, if you don’t mind.”

Just then someone bustled into the room, and a woman’s voice said, “Okay, I’ve got your discharge paperwork, I just need your signature.”

Foggy grinned. “Just show me where to sign.”

Eventually the paperwork was sorted out, with Foggy having gained a new appreciation for why Matt kept whining about buying a signature stamp (to which Foggy’s invariable reply was that they didn’t have money for non-essentials), and Foggy was being wheeled out of the hospital (it was policy), while Matt worked on hailing them a cab. Standing at the curb and clutching his friend’s arm, he watched smeary blobs pass in front of them and was glad he could rely on his friend to successfully navigate them to an empty cab for now, even if he would have to learn the skill eventually.

xxXxx

Even after nothing but the short cab ride and the walk up the stairs to his apartment, Foggy felt exhausted. Being on the other side of sighted guide felt weird. Sure, he had had years of experience with guiding Matt by this point, and someone at the hospital had given him a quick crash course in the basics, but that didn’t help with the feeling of each step being into the unknown. He was tense the entire time Matt was leading him, trying desperately to just trust and relax (and not think of what a strange sight they must make). But even knowing logically that Matt wouldn’t let anything happen to him, he couldn’t shake the feelings of fear and uncertainty.

Once they were inside his apartment, Matt gently removed Foggy’s hand from his arm, and Foggy heard the jangle of keys as Matt set them on a hook and a clack as he folded up his cane and put it in its usual spot. Matt disappeared into the space and Foggy fumbled along the wall for the light switch, hitting it and for once being thankful that the overhead bulb was a little dim, since his photophobia had not entirely disappeared. He slowly made his way over to the couch, feeling surprisingly hesitant even in his own home. The entire trip from the hospital he had kept thinking that if he could just get home, he could relax. But now he was here, and it was his home, his place, it was familiar… but it also wasn’t. He thought he could make out from the blurs and shadows the mass that was probably his couch, to his left where he knew it was, and similarly his table to the right. Other furniture and accessories, the corners of the walls, the pictures and knick knacks displayed, blurred together into a mess of vague gradients, and he couldn’t distinguish shapes from the shadows. A bag that had been completely invisible against the carpet brushed his foot as he slowly walked across the space, and he sighed as he sunk into the cushions of his couch, pausing only to pull a pillow out from beneath him that he had accidentally half sat on.

He nearly startled when Matt spoke from only a couple steps away.

“Do you want something to eat? It’s almost dinner time. I thought maybe we could just order in pizza for tonight.”

“That… sounds wonderful, actually.”

Foggy leaned his head back, closing his eyes and listening as Matt placed the order, then came and sat down, on his futon it sounded like.

“So, I was assuming I’d just take the futon, if that’s okay? So I can pull it out?”

Foggy shrugged. “Sure, whichever you prefer.”

“I’ll just grab some sheets for it. Where do you keep those?”

“Uh, closet by the bathroom. All the linens are in there.”

“Which shelf?”

Foggy sighed, frustrated. “I don’t remember, Matt. Can’t you, like, hear them, or something?”

There was a beat of silence, then, “I’ll figure it out.”

Foggy let Matt take care of the pizza when the delivery arrived, deciding to just stay where he was on the couch. He heard Matt opening cabinets in the kitchen, probably searching for plates, but he didn’t ask for directions so Foggy didn’t open his mouth. Eventually Matt’s footsteps came towards him and then Matt was handing him a couple of slices of pizza on a paper plate, that he had found who-knew-where.

They ate quietly, and when he was finished Foggy just set the plate down on the end table to his left and leaned back again. He didn’t want to move. If it weren’t for the increasing feeling of urgency in his bladder, and the call of his comfortable bed, he didn’t think he would have moved at all again that night. After several minutes of convincing himself it was necessary, he finally stood up, leaving the plate where it was (a habit he knew he needed to break, especially now… but Matt had a super nose, surely he would notice and clean it up…), went to the bathroom, and then turned towards his bedroom, calling out a ‘good night’ behind him. There was more to do, more to discuss, more to re-learn about his apartment, but it would have to all wait until morning.


End file.
